“He seems all that is amiable, frank, and kind.”
Lord Vargrave’s brow became thoughtful. “I think so too,” he said, after a short pause; “and I hope you will approve of what I mean to do. You see Lumley was brought up to regard himself as my heir—I owe something to him, beyond the poor estate which goes with, but never can adequately support, my title. Family honours, hereditary rank, must be properly regarded. But that dear girl—I shall leave her the bulk of my fortune. Could we not unite the fortune and the title? It would secure the rank to her, it would incorporate all my desires—all my duties.”
“But,” said Lady Vargrave, with evident surprise, “if I understand you rightly, the disparity of years—”
“And what then, what then, Lady Vargrave? Is there no disparity of years between us?—a greater disparity than between Lumley and that tall girl. Lumley is a mere youth, a youth still, five-and-thirty; he will be little more than forty when they marry; I was between fifty and sixty when I married you, Lady Vargrave. I don’t like boy and girl marriages: a man should be older than his wife. But you are so romantic, Lady Vargrave. Besides, Lumley is so gay and good-looking, and wears so well. He has been very nearly forming another attachment; but that, I trust, is out of his head now. They must like each other. You will not gainsay me, Lady Vargrave, and if anything happens to me—life is uncertain—”
“Oh, do not speak so—my friend, my benefactor!”
“Why, indeed,” resumed his lordship, mildly, “thank Heaven, I am very well—feel younger than ever I did—but still life is uncertain; and if you survive me, you will not throw obstacles in the way of my grand scheme?”
“I—no,—no—of course you have the right in all things over her destiny; but so young—so soft-hearted, if she should love one of her own years—”
“Love!—pooh! love does not come into girls’ heads unless it is put there. We will bring her up to love Lumley. I have another reason—a cogent one—our secret!—to him it can be confided—it should not go out of our family. Even in my grave I could not rest if a slur were cast on my respectability—my name.”
Lord Vargrave spoke solemnly and warmly; then muttering to himself, “Yes, it is for the best,” he took up his hat and quitted the room. He joined his stepchild on the lawn. He romped with her—he played with her—that stiff, stately man!—he laughed louder than she did, and ran almost as fast. And when she was fatigued and breathless, he made her sit down beside him, in a little summer-house, and, fondly stroking down her disordered tresses, said, “You tire me out, child; I am growing too old to play with you. Lumley must supply my place. You love Lumley?”
“Oh, dearly, he is so good-humoured, so kind: he has given me such a beautiful doll, with such eyes!”